One More Angel

"Yeah…" I switched the phone to the other shoulder and held it in place with my chin, trying not to get too many floury fingerprints on it. Scraping the bottom of the cinnamon container, I just managed to get the last teaspoon, throwing the dusty brown container in the trash can.

So, how are the boys?" my friend Melissa said. "I haven't seen them since we went on vacation." I lifted the cord over the bag of Domino sugar and my prized giant mixing bowl, a wedding gift from my aunt, so that I could sufficiently scavenge through the spice rack.

"They're doing great," I answered, smiling and glancing momentarily out the window at Keith and Eric. "Keith's soccer camp gave out shirts, and he refuses to take his off. It's been through three games and a scuffle in the mud with his brother."

"Oh, gross," Melissa laughed.

"I'm planning to hold it hostage, or at least wash it before the cookout tonight." I struggled to open the container of cinnamon without it popping open and flying everywhere.

"Ah, so you've ascended to the ranks of the soccer mom while I wasn't looking!" Melissa accused jokingly, voice laced with amusement. "Sneaky!" We both laughed; I finished adding the cinnamon and readjusted the receiver before dumping the now brown-flecked apples into the pie dish.

"Yes, so it seems," I said, attempting to cackle evilly. I heard a shriek reverberate through the glass from the backyard, and glanced out the window. "Keith! Leave Eric alone!" Picking up the pie crust and laying it over the apples, I said into the receiver, "Sorry Meliss. So when did you guys want to come over?"

The door banged open, and Keith ran gleefully through the door, followed by a shrieking Eric; Melissa's reply was drowned out.

"Sorry Meliss, hold on a sec. Boys, I'm on the phone!" Keith took a flying leap for me, landing with a thump at my feet.

"Safe!" he yelled, sticking his tongue out at his brother. It was common knowledge that no one pestered Mommy while she was cooking, especially not within tickling distance.

"Guys! I'm on the phone with Mrs. Swedenson!"

"Keith is mean!" Eric cried, stamping his foot on the linoleum floor.

"Am not!"

"Meliss, can I call you back later?" I said, trying to shield the receiver from the two's heated argument lest her eardrums be blown out.

"Sure, not a problem."

"'Kay, see 'ya." I hung up the phone and turned to look at the boys. "Keith, what did you do?"

"Nothing!" he protested, wide baby blue eyes staring up at me innocently. At just six years old, he was the older of the two; he shared his golden-brown hair with me, while his eyes were his father's.

"Hmm. I don't think Eric would be—"

"He tutted my trut!" Eric accused shrilly. The appearance had been reversed with my four-year old; his inquisitive clear green eyes were the same color as mine, and a mop of Mark's golden blonde hair sat messily atop his head.

"Took my truck," I corrected before turning to Keith. "Come on mister, tell him where it is." A disapproving note sounded in my voice. "Keith, I'm waiting." He shifted guiltily from foot to foot, staring down at one untied shoelace.

"Under the stairs," he finally said.

"And what do you say?" I coaxed gently.

"Sorry Eric."

"It's otay," Eric replied earnestly. Now that he knew where his beloved fire truck was, he was back to hero-worshipping his older brother.

"Alright bud," I said cheerfully, ruffling Keith's hair. He scrunched up his nose. "You guys want some lunch?" My request was met with yells of delight. "Alright, alright. Right after I'm done with the apple pie, I'll put some dogs on the grill. That sound okay?"

"Yup," they chorused. I smiled contentedly. This was what I lived for.

weeell? How do you like? I will bake many cookies for you if you reveiw... puppy eyes please? Otherwise I'll have to eat them all myself, and then I'll spend all my time burning off cookie instead of updating! Mwahahahaha!